


Ebb and Flow

by unalignedant



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Graphic Violence, Vague Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unalignedant/pseuds/unalignedant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pull of <i>ta'veren</i> is not something Rand or Mat can ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebb and Flow

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR consent issues. I used the _ta'veren_ excuse to write some good old fashioned "magic-made-them-do-it" dubious consent so please heed the warning. Set in Rhuidean after _The Shadow Rising_ but before _The Fires of Heaven_ so there are vague spoilers for the first four books. General disclaimers apply: I do not own these characters  & make no profit from this. Any mistakes are my own; I am currently without a beta.

The pull was stronger at night, when there were fewer threads, fewer urgent matters, fewer people all pulling at him at once. It was particularly strong that night. Rand was halfway to the building Mat had claimed before he realized where he was headed. He didn’t turn around.

He ordered the Maidens circling him to remain outside the building itself, not wanting them any closer. He tried not to think about _why_ , about what he knew was pulling him, and instead just acted, letting himself be pulled; without any energy to try to fight it. The Maidens were displeased but obeyed, probably because it was only Mat. It was ironic because sometimes Rand thought Mat might be the most dangerous person in the camp. Aside from himself, of course.

Mat was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside his lantern, carefully rolling tabac into his pouch. He glanced at Rand only briefly, clearly not surprised by Rand’s appearance at his door, the flickering light casting shadows across Mat’s face and making his eyes dark and unreadable.

Rand hesitated, unsure of whether to speak or act. Unsure of what he expected, or of what he thought was going to happen.

“At least shut the door,” Mat grumbled, not looking up from the tabac in his hands. Rand blinked and shut the door. He bent over to remove his boots and placed them near the door; when he looked up Mat was staring at him but quickly looked back at his tabac. Rand went over to him and sat at his side, facing him.

Mat purposefully finished rolling and filling his pouch, as if to let Rand know he was being ignored, his fingers working deftly and quickly. Rand took the opportunity to study him. His eyes were clear and focused, and his hair was growing long enough to curl over the tops of his ears. He was barefoot and his shirt was unlaced and looked rumpled, as usual, and as he moved Rand caught glimpses of that medallion resting against his chest. The scar around his throat was still ugly and rough and he occasionally paused to itch at it, wincing slightly. The rest of his skin was darkened somewhat from the punishing sun of the Waste, much like Rand’s own, though Rand thought it looked more natural on Mat than himself--Mat was always up to some mischief out of doors back home and was browned more than any of them by summer’s end.

Rand realized Mat had been finished for some time and was staring at him, eyes narrowed and searching. Rand regarded him for a moment longer in silence.

“You knew I was coming,” Rand said finally, more of a statement than a question. When they pulled at each other like this, there was never a question.

“Yes,” Mat said simply.

Without thinking Rand reached out and wrapped his fingers around Mat’s arm. Mat tensed, eyes still trained unwaveringly on Rand. They stared at each other silently, neither moving, until Rand slowly, slowly pulled Mat towards him. Mat resisted and Rand froze.

“What if--” Mat started, swallowing thickly, face contorting as if it was difficult for him to speak. “What if I said _no_ ,” he finished in a rush, shuddering and squeezing his eyes closed tightly.

Rand was surprised he could even manage to speak it out loud. They pulled at each other so strongly it was overwhelming at times and unavoidable at others. Mat still fought it at every turn, as Rand knew he would, but it didn’t change the fact that, eventually, he always gave in. The thought that now, somehow, Rand wouldn’t get what he knew he came for was like a fog descending in his mind, erasing all rational thought and control. It wasn’t possible, it wasn’t the way of things; it was so unnatural to him somehow that he was tightening his grip on Mat’s arm before he realized because if Mat was telling him no then the obvious answer was to just _take_ what he needed.

“You...can’t,” Rand said, wondering why Mat didn’t realize the absurdity of what he was saying. Distantly Rand tried to remember that it wasn’t absurd, it wasn’t absurd at all. It was just pulling. _Strongly_. Mat narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll--I’ll bloody try,” Mat threatened, though he sounded increasingly unsure of himself.

The threat was enough to cause a buzzing in Rand’s mind, an almost-desperate worry that whatever was pulling, _was always pulling_ , was not going to release him tonight. He quickly embraced the Void and felt calmer, though something of his internal struggle and instinctive move to channel must have shown on his face because Mat looked at him, alarmed, and unfolded his legs to climb his feet in one smooth motion, backing up until his back hit the far wall.

“Rand?” Mat asked warily, breath hitching when Rand calmly followed him and grabbed him by the arms.

“You’re always so stubborn,” Rand said quietly, rapidly shoving Mat against the wall, hard enough that he knocked the air out of him. Mat glared at him, gulping and trying to catch his breath.

“And...you’re a...Light-forsaken bastard,” Mat managed between breaths, struggling willfully against Rand’s grip.

Suddenly fire appeared on either side of Mat’s head, spreading quickly in a straight line across the wall and around the room, not stopping until it had flared in a full circle around them, flames jumping and cracking and casting heat and shadows all over everything. Mat froze, wide-eyed. Rand watched the light playing across Mat’s face, transfixed. Mat suddenly realized Rand was only watching him intently, ignoring the fire.

“The _flames_ , Rand,” Mat said frantically, his face awash in panic as he looked all around the room. “For _Light’s sake_.”

Rand stared at him steadily, calmly ignoring the heat of the fires raging around them and tightening his grip on Mat’s arms, until Mat turned terrified wide eyes on him that quickly turned to anger.

“Are you trying to kill us both?” Mat demanded, struggling in Rand’s grasp. “The _flames_ , you bloody idiot!”

He punctuated the last with a kick to Rand’s shin that didn’t hurt, not wrapped in the Void as he was, but it was startling enough that Rand blinked rapidly, feeling like he was waking up, confused. He realized they were both sweating from the heat and the room was lit up brighter than day. Quickly he doused the flames circling the room until only the original lantern remained lit, Mat’s breathless gulps of air sounding loud in the sudden hush after the roaring fire.

“You...bloody... _idiot_ ,” Mat gasped shakily, his whole body trembling, but his eyes still furious and dark.

“Sorry--I--” Rand started, still half confused at his loss of control, still needing what he came in for, still wanting to take it.

“Do it, then,” Mat growled, and Rand wondered if he’d spoken aloud. Mat pressed against him purposefully and a haze settled in Rand’s mind at the contact. “Do it before I change my mind and you end up _killing us_.”

Rand leaned to force his tongue into Mat’s mouth, Mat making a startled and annoyed sound and scrabbling chaotically at Rand’s arms. His mouth was hot and slick, and Rand was reluctant to pull back for air. Mat breathed heavily against his lips, a flush across his cheeks. Rand had to have him and was tired of waiting, so he wrestled him to the floor, Mat fighting and scratching the whole way despite his earlier submission. Rand ended up having to tear both of their clothes because of how much Mat resisted, snarling and kicking, and even when Rand finally had him on all fours and was thrusting into him, _wildly, feverishly_ , Mat still struggled violently even as he bucked back against Rand desperately, voice hoarse from cursing.

When it was over, they both lay sprawled on the blankets, chests heaving from the effort and Mat still muttering curses. Rand could feel the scratches littering his arms and chest but now that the pull had released him he was too tired to care. And too angry as always that this _pull_ was using them this way.

“I hate this, you know,” Mat said wearily, wincing slightly as he dragged himself to a sitting position, leaning back against the wall. He yanked a blanket over his waist and rested his elbows on his knees.

Rand found his breeches which were thankfully untorn and pulled them on before sitting up slowly next to Mat. Rand hazarded a look at him only to see Mat glaring silently at him, Mat’s throat muscles working as though he was refraining from speaking more.

“I’m sorry,” Rand said, as he always did, after. At the very least Mat’s struggles had gotten more perfunctory over time; the first time it had happened they’d nearly destroyed an entire hillside. Rand had limped for a week after and Mat had not said a word for nearly three days.

Mat only grunted in response, looking up at Rand through the hair that had fallen over his eyes. Instinctively, Rand reached up and brushed the hair off his forehead; Mat’s eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t move away. Rand sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Rand said again, reluctantly looking away from Mat’s penetrating gaze, finding and pulling on his shirt, which was torn, and his coat, which wasn’t. He buttoned it up to hide the tear and climbed out of Mat’s blankets to reach his boots. He could feel Mat staring at him the entire time, like an itch on his back, like a tug in his mind. It would never go away.

When he turned before pushing open the door, Mat was simply looking at him, but for a brief surprising moment Mat seemed small and lost. The most surprising aspect of it was that was exactly how Rand felt, and imagined he looked, as well: caught in a stormy sea with nothing to cling to but a deteriorating piece of wood. Abruptly the look was gone from Mat’s face and he was frowning, though confusion flickered in his eyes.

“You should have guards,” Rand said suddenly, hand braced against the door. Mat grimaced.

“I think I’ll be all right,” he said slowly, eyes tracking to the strange raven spear across the room before quickly looking back at Rand. “Besides,” he continued dryly, “when I’m this close to you I doubt guards will be of much help against anything that comes after me.”

Rand’s fingers tightened reflexively on the door and he stared at them for a moment, hearing Mat’s unspoken _Like you_ echoing in his mind.

“They certainly couldn’t hurt,” Rand said finally, but Mat only shrugged his one-shouldered shrug.

“Maybe,” he said doubtfully, and Rand knew when to take things as a victory. It seemed he was always learning things the hard way.

“Good night, Mat,” Rand said quietly, looking at Mat, catching and holding his eyes. Mat stared back silently before answering.

“Good night, Rand,” Mat said, looking away, and Rand nodded, pushing the door open and exiting the room.

The chill outside was a welcome sensation after the heat of Mat’s room, and Rand inhaled deeply once, before setting off towards the Roof of the Maidens, his Maiden escort circling him silently. He was sure none of them could have known for sure what had happened, or that he had channeled and almost burned him and Mat both, but they remained silent regardless. He was grateful; he didn’t feel like talking. He was more than glad to be free of the pull once again, though he was still disturbed and angry at the means to being free of it.

The worst part was that he knew it wouldn’t last; even as he walked further away toward the center of the city, he could feel an itch in his back. It tugged, weakly, in the back of his mind. He could almost feel it settle there, waiting, poised. He didn’t know how long it would wait, this time.

And it was always stronger at night.


End file.
